


War Paint

by LunaCatriona



Category: Holby City
Genre: Arthur's illness, Grief/Mourning, The Sky Is Falling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 11:11:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7100713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaCatriona/pseuds/LunaCatriona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the war paint needs to come off, when the war is lost before it ends. One-shot. Berena friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	War Paint

Serena Campbell was not normally one for loitering at doors; she was far too direct a person for that. And yet, here she was, loitering at a door, unable to make her hands open the door or her feet cross the threshold.

The problem was that she knew the reality on the other side of the door that frightened her. It was a harsh reminder that the world wasn't fair, and that reminder had caused her to do exactly what she had been accused of earlier – she was indeed overprotective of Jason, and Morven, and Fletch, and Raf, and AAU, and, of course, Arthur.

The light was dim and the ward was quiet, for it was night, and time for patients to be sleeping. She herself had clocked off over an hour ago, and she didn't quite know what she was doing in the building this late. 

“I thought I might find you up here.”

Serena startled at the sound of a familiar voice breaking the quiet of the ward. However, she didn't turn. Instead, she gazed through the blinds of the window, at a battle being lost and a life being taken. It wasn't like she'd not seen it before; she'd seen many people die too young. However, she had not cared about a person this much who was dying before he had lived. Her mother was different – she had died well into her seventies, having lived a full life and, as it had transpired, had two children. Arthur was barely getting started and already his time was limited.

A hand fell onto her shoulder; it was a conscious movement not to shrug it off out of habit. After all, who was she trying to please by being stoic about this, when she was not in the company of those who needed her solidity? They were not watching her – at the moment, they had one another to confide in. That was what she hoped, anyway.

Her instinct was still to pretend she felt nothing, but pretending she was alright when she wasn't didn't work anymore.

How ironic life was, she mused, that the young man who looked after himself was going to die before she did, and she was twenty years older and had definitely not treated her internal organs with much care. Not ironic as much as unfair, she corrected herself. But then she knew life wasn't fair already. It had taught her that much about itself. 

Only now did she realise that she hadn't replied. But, as it turned out, she didn't need to. This silence was not uncomfortable; it was a quiet camaraderie, left assumed and  
unquestioned. Finally, she felt the war paint washing off her face. There was no more camouflage for her now. Not until she walked back into her home and started to care for Jason again. Which, she realised, she ought to be getting on with soon. 

There was something in her that told her to stay where she was for the time being, because there was something to be gained from remaining here just now. “Are you OK?” 

That was a question Serena honestly didn't know the answer to. She knew she would be OK, at some point down the line, but she wasn't sure if she was OK in this moment. Her future state could be counted upon because it was necessary for her to, in the end, be alright. In the here and now, though, she found this scenario painful. More painful than she had been expecting it to be. Though she had mentored Arthur, helped him with his general anxiety disorder, taught him something of how to stand up for himself, she had never fully appreciated how much she cared about him until now. Until she had to lose him. Between her, Hanssen, Ric and Sacha, they had made a good doctor and a brilliant man of the young, awkward, blunt, nervous, socially clueless boy who first stepped through those doors.

And now he had to go.

She felt sorry for Morven in all of this, of course. She didn't deserve to lose her husband so soon after they had found one another. But even more than for Morven, her heart broke for Dominic and Zosia, who shared a home and so much of their love and life with Arthur. Dom and Arthur were sometimes joined at the hip, despite their rocky start; Zosia, too, was very close to Arthur. The inevitable outcome of this was bound to turn their world upside down.

She didn't know where it came from, but it started in her feet, making Serena very conscious of the way she was standing, and the two rather insignificant extremities that kept her upright. Then her knees went weak; she surreptitiously put her hand on the window ledge to steady herself. She had known this before – grief. The grief of losing someone simply because she knew they were going to die just very soon, even though they still walked the Earth. It was a sensation with intensity she had almost allowed herself forget since she had last experienced it. She had forgotten how the knees weakened, how the stomach knotted, how the chest tightened. How the breath hitched in the throat. How the eyes stung. How the tears threatened to fall, and every ounce of the body's willpower was used in trying to keep emotion at bay.

Serena must have stumbled, because the hand that lay peacefully on her shoulder now gripped her arm, holding her steady. “Oh, whoops. It's alright. I've got your back,” that same quiet voice reassured her. “Are you going in to see him?”

Serena shook her head.

“Leaving him to sleep?”

She nodded her head. Words were not her forte at the moment.

“OK, well, maybe you should sit down.”

Serena had to agree there, but she didn't want to have to sit down in plain view of the entire staff of Darwin ward. However, it seemed her mind was read when she was guided not to the small bench, but towards the lift. The metal box was a cold, emotionless place. Almost separated from the world outside by those sliding doors, Serena tried to work out exactly what it was she felt. Grief, obviously. But which part of the grief?

She was in too much pain to be numb but too numb to be in pain. In limbo between the two, she couldn't find a concrete answer. All she knew was that Arthur was dying, and it wasn't right. It wasn't fair. But – “Life isn't fair,” she finished that thought aloud, though her voice was barely a murmur.

“I've witnessed enough injustice to be forced to agree.” Silence fell for only a moment before it was broken again. “Young men shouldn't die, and yet they do, day in and day out.”

As the bell pinged and the doors opened onto AAU, Serena noticed that there was still a hand on her arm, but it had moved down to her wrist, the limb entwined with another like ivy on a branch.

The office door opened and shut behind them, and Serena sank into the nearest chair while she tried to regain her equilibrium. This scenario was all wrong. This idea of Arthur's imminent death was not one she wanted to accept, but she was too rational not to. She had seen him. He had given up work, which she knew he would never have dreamt of doing if he did not feel he was too unwell to continue with medical practice. She could do nothing to help; there was nothing left to do but wait, and as someone who tried her best in any situation, to step back and accept the reality in front of her was as difficult as it was logical. It made sense to accept it, but it flooded her with grief to do it.

“May I offer some advice?”

Serena looked up; Berenice Wolfe was staring down at her, those bright eyes piercing through every pretence before it was even attempted. Serena shrugged in order to indicate that she didn't particularly care either way.

“Don't fight it. Start grieving now,” she said, gentle in the heavy silence. “Start grieving now so that it's not as painful when he dies. Three storms are easier to take than one killer hurricane.”

Right then, she realised why she had taken to Bernie. Not only was she wise, pragmatic and strong, though clearly deeply flawed and uncertain of anything that didn't involve being a soldier, but she made Serena feel that, in this moment, here and now, she was the only thing that mattered. The look on that face told her she was important. 

After all they had battled over today, here they were, and they were not enemies. Maybe they could never be enemies, even if they tried. They were two people destined to either clash or bond. There was never going to be an in between about it, and, for the most part, they seemed to bond quite well, until one of them went on the defensive. “There's method to this madness,” Bernie added, a somewhat sorrowful smile playing on her lips. “You see, I think you feel you need to look after Jason, and Morven, and Fletch, and anyone else you care about, before your own welfare. But if you don't start grieving now, when the time comes, you'll be as traumatised as everyone else and you won't be as much help to them. But start now, and you've already made the first step. You've accepted it before it's happened, and that will protect you more than anything else in the world. You'll be stronger for it.”

Bernie was right. The earlier she started dealing with it, the less of a mess she would be further down the line, so the more other people could rely on her. It made perfect sense, and yet she hadn't seen it before. Bernie stretched out a hand, clearly for Serena to take; slowly she got to her feet, her legs having recovered from their previous realisations, but did not drop the hand that held hers so tightly.

The war paint that she had felt washing away lay in pools around her feet; she could almost see the colours of every emotion it hid, swirling and dancing in the harsh light of the room. There was no war to wage, and no need for the camouflage. The war was already lost before it ended. She didn't need weapons and disguise now – she needed comrades and she needed shelter.

“Arthur is going to die, and there is nothing I can do about it.” Serena just stared for a moment, before Bernie ordered her, “Say it.”

“Arthur,” repeated Serena, swallowing hard to push back the lump forming in her throat, “is going...he's going to die.” She was falling out of a dream-like state, reality caving in around her. “He's going to die, and I...I can't help him.” The meaning of her words slapped her across the face, and she was no longer able to justify denial of any kind. It was the hands on her face that made her, for just so long as she was not needed, think of her own welfare. “He's going to die...Do you know, he was the most infuriating boy I'd ever had to work with, bar Edward, of course. And then he grew up and sometimes he's reminded me what I'm capable of and what I'm worth. I'm going to...” she trailed away, finding that she could not finish the sentence.

And before there was any time for resistance or protest, Bernie sighed and pulled Serena close into a tight embrace. “Miss him,” she completed the sentence, one hand in Serena's hair and the other gently rubbing her back. “You're going to miss him.”


End file.
